


Beyond The Abyss

by CassTrash



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Blood, Character Death(s), Death Threats, F/M, Gore, Mental Torture, Mention of beheading, Violence, coarse language, mention of drug use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-19
Updated: 2018-05-19
Packaged: 2019-05-09 05:53:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14710337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CassTrash/pseuds/CassTrash
Summary: Whilst working on a criminal mission for a billionaire, you begin to realise differences in the universe and try to focus on the mission at hand rather than the glowing eyes seemingly reappearing.





	Beyond The Abyss

**Author's Note:**

> This fills the square "Glowing Eyes" for SPN Angst Bingo 2018. Please do NOT read if easily triggered! Future editing may be applied. Let me know if you guys are interested in seeing this turn into a small series!

Amos Bryant, Cincinnati’s very own Bruce Wayne, stepped foot into Callahan Tower armed with at least three pistols underneath all that unnecessary pricey clothing. He was too predictable, too repetitive. Amos didn’t follow suit with anybody’s plan, including his own. If it wasn’t for those two bodyguards with biceps the size of your skull, those security guards would be patting him down the minute he entered. The two of you had a deal and he wasn’t going to mess it up for you.

A crowed formed, eager to meet the billionaire. Amos sauntered to the receptionist’s desk and chatted up the woman, gaining her attention and successfully distracting her long enough for you to sneak past into the employee’s only section of the tower. “As much as I’d love to keep this conversation going, I’m awfully late for an appointment with your boss.” Amos’ voice whispered in your right ear; you had completely forgotten about the hidden earpiece. It was Russel’s idea to use them in the first place and as it turns out, it was more useful than not. Maybe Russel really did have a brain on himself and not just those good looks.

“Mr Callahan has been waiting for you for quite some time.” The receptionist’s voice was smooth like the rocks you’d find at your hometown river; you always promised yourself you’d return there after all these missions had been completed. “He’s on his way to greet you in person now.”

A shallowed whisper came from your earpiece, “Perfect.” Perfect, indeed. Damian should be arriving at the lobby just as you enter his office.

Maximum security was supplies to the Tower whilst both Cincinnati’s favourite Sons were in one place, though they definitely weren’t top-notch judging by their lack of suspicion towards you. Being a wanted criminal and renowned Hitman surveying one of Ohio’s biggest tower’s, you’d think they would’ve at least tried to arrest you at this point. What was the point of even going into hiding for those five years if they didn’t recognise you?

Head falling to the ground, you remained at pace as three security guards jogged past you. “Floor fourteen.” The lead guard murmured into his radio. As long as they weren’t after you, you couldn’t care less. Russel can take care of them.

It wasn’t your forte working for A-list celebrities especially those with an entire SWAT team at the ready. You’ve run into those guys more than your own mother and you’ve earned yourself quite a reputation for being able to take a couple bullets; they wouldn’t mind giving you some nice wounds themselves. Working by yourself and, most importantly, for yourself all you cared about, but what Amos was offering is too good to pass up and you’d be dead before anybody else gets their hands on it.

Damian Callahan, ex-federal agent and wanted criminal in five countries; a poor three less than yourself. Callahan’s wanted status remained concealed from the public, it took you a good five hours to hack into the records. He had them sealed tight. Damian can rope in anybody with his amount of wealth he throws around and with those Prince Charming good looks he could make the straightest of men turn heads in his direction.

Amos previously had a serious working relationship with Callahan, until he stabbed the billionaire – metaphorically and literally – in the back and threw him under the bus with the special weapons and tactics team, though it only backfired when Damian realised SWAT worked for the playboy. It never surfaced to the media and despite their claims, the two couldn’t stand each other. Behind closed doors it was every well-dressed man for himself. With all those injuries they obtained from each other it was a mystery how the community didn’t catch on. Anybody who observed the two for long enough could notice the fury in their eyes.

“Mr Bryant,” Damian’s thick voice reached the overly expensive microphone, “let’s take this back to my office, shall we?”

“And make all these journalist go back without any articles?” Amos said. “Besides, there’s so many people here desperate to hear from you.”

Decent save. Callahan is the “white knight” after all. He can’t ruin his reputation for the life of him.

Kevlar hugging your hands, you sifted through the piles of paper on his several-grand desk. When it came to sabotaging people’s careers, Amos went all out with the equipment; you might just have to keep these gloves for yourself. With the jobs you’ve been given recently, they’d come in useful. Especially all those combat missions.

He had to have documentations or at least…emails. You waggled the mouse to his desktop, causing the monitor to display a poor quality photograph of what appeared to be Damian Callahan himself standing in front of The White House; probably what he wished he could have. “No password.” you scoffed.

“There’s a bigger situation on your hands other than passwords” Garrison, your eyes on this mission, whispered through the microphone connecting to the opposite earpiece in your left ear. He was only the next building over with the motorcycle, patiently waiting for your exit. “These binoculars ain’t shit, but there’s a security guard doing their rounds. If I’ve calculated this correctly they-“

“Just fucking tell me where they are!” you whisper-yelled, your fingers furiously tapping away at the keyboard and mouse. The faster you got those documents stating whatever this big plan Damian was creating, the faster you could get hold of your brand new, modified rifle. You couldn’t give a damn what Damian was hiding or planning, the two celebrities were just as bad as each other.

He swallowed his words, “Two rooms down.”

“Fuck!” A growl escaped your lips. Where did Amos get these amateurs? “Isn’t it your job to keep watch? Now some security guard is going to have to pay for this.”

“Wait!” Garrison yelled; you clutched against your aching ear. “You’re not going to…”

Peering out of the wall-sized window, you stared into the small circles of his binoculars. “What do you expect me to do? We need the evidence, Garrison. Reporting the information back to Amos won’t do anything.” Observing the room, you sighed to yourself. Bosses sure do love cluttered offices. “There’s got to be a printer somewhere here.”

“You don’t have to do this…”

“I  _didn’t_ have to do this. It’s either they die, or we all do.”

Heavy footsteps neared closer; they must be wearing thick boots. You read through the hidden documents inside the files on his desktop for further evidence in hopes there’s something you could blackmail either of the men with because surely Amos had something up his sleeve to rid of you. The irritating, stale voice of your “look out” interrupted your concentration, “How can you just take a like that? Without hesitation or – or a second thought!”

“Don’t they tell you anything, kid? This won’t be my first and it’s not going to be my last if I can help it.” That managed to shut him up.

The doorhandle of the office cautiously turned and the streak of blazing lights fled to the hallway in an escape, informing the security guard somebody had been – and most likely still is – inside. She entered, her hand hovering over her pistol tucked in her holster. “What are you doing in here, ma’am? You do realise this is an off-limits area, correct?”

The shaking of her hand indicated she had to be fairly new to the job, probably only recently out of training. “I’m going to give you the opportunity to leave before anything bad happens.” you warned. “Just walk away and pretend you didn’t see me.”

Flashes of orange came from the window behind you, leaving the office in a ginger glow. The earthy-brown orbs staring back at you snapped to blood-red, a monstrous grin spreading across her lips. The surroundings were shades of orange and red, the office heating up as though it was on fire, and everything felt deep as though the oxygen was running short. The guard’s face contorted in expressions you didn’t even know were possible. “This is…” you stammered, walking backwards until the window burnt against your spine, “not normal.”

“We’ve been looking for you.” A chain-smoker voice escaped from her throat, her smile growing and her feet dragging across the carpet towards you.

Black abyss greeted you at the bottom of the ground outside the Tower, everything seeming to have vanished and turned into nothing. The security guard grabbed hold of your forearm and dug her knife-like fingernails into your flesh; red liquid oozing from your limb. “Get the fuck off me!” you growled, shoving her away. “What the fuck is going on?!” you screamed.

“It’s time to come home, Y/n.”

“Fuck off, fuck off!”

Swiftly grabbing the pistol in your holster placed around your thigh, you pointed the gun at her stomach and fired. Her breathing stilled, her hand clutching the bullet wound. Devil-red eyes faded to hazel, revealing tear streaks rather than bloody ones.

“What did you do?” Garrison gasped. “She’s bleeding out, you have to help her!”

The security guard looked at you desperately, both your brains and hearts racing. The black abyss was replaced with streetlights and car headlights, the orange turned to an angelic white from the hanging lights above, and the nail wounds in your forearm vanished. You snapped back into reality and pushed your fears down. “She would’ve ruined the mission.” you growled and returned to the desktop, pretending as though whatever just happened wasn’t freaking you the fuck out. Maybe you should’ve declined doing a line the night before a mission after all.

Instead of a muttered response, you were greeted by a roar of the motorcycle blaring through the earpiece. “There’s at least five guards heading upstairs, that suppressor isn’t as useful as you thought.”

“It wasn’t the suppressor, smartass.” You eyed the guard’s hands fidgeting with something in her pocket; a faint voice transmitting from the material. “She called for backup.”

“I suggest you hurry before I leave without you.”

You laughed, “Cute, Gary.” Mechanical groans in protest resonated through the room as the printer began producing the evidence. “It’ll be the last thing you’ll ever do.” Treading over the dying guard, you fisted the papers into your leather jacket.

“Head to the roof. There’s a building you can jump to beside it then jump over to the parking garage. I’ll meet you at the top.”

Following his instructions, you took the stairs two at a time to ensure the guards don’t capture you before you get out. “Fucking Bryant. I better be getting good money for this shit.” you swore under your breath to nobody and opened the metal door leading to the roof. Pebbles coated the ground and chicken wire lined around the edgings – not strong enough to keep you at bay.

High beam headlights travelled up the levels of the parking garage, the engine roaring and echoing through the structure. Cause that’s totally not noticeable. Pebbles crunched underneath your boots with each leap until, finally, your foot collided with the concrete roof of the opposite building. “What are you waiting for?” Garrison asked, staring at you through his helmet visor as you stood at the edge of the building.

“Okay, shit, just wait. Jumping rooftops isn’t exactly in my paygrade.” One final leap and you were finally safe sitting on the back of Garrison’s motorcycle and riding away from the building as though you were never there to begin with.

Garrison twisted and turned through the streets, avoiding his plate being tracked by any undercover cops. The headlights switched off as you entered the back alleys. He sighed, “Call in the information.”

“Hello no!”

“What?” Venom laced his voice, his shoulders tense.

“Call it in just for Amos to fuck us over? If there’s one thing I learnt in this field, Kid, is that you don’t give what people want just like that. He wants the info? He can be expecting to pay me more than a lousy forty thousand.”

He stayed silent and continued down the alleys until you had made it to the pier. Adequate moonlight illuminated the both of you as Garrison slowed to a halt and surveyed the surroundings. Flashing red and blue lights reflected off his tinted visor; those were no ordinary lights. No sirens. Calloused fingertips ran over the pistol and wrapped around the handle, pressing the barrel against Garrison’s spine. “What the fuck did you do?” you whispered as you anxiously looked behind yourself. Fucking SWAT.

“It was Amos’ idea.” he said smugly. The barrel digging into his flesh meant nothing to him as he dismounted his motorcycle. He knew you wouldn’t do anything with fifteen highly trained officers pointing assault rifles at you. “Figured he’d get you to do all the work  _and_ ship your head over to Brazil. That is where the two million bounty is, right? Best part is I get half the money for half the work. Simply had to put this—“ He peeled off a small black strip that camouflaged into his motorcycle perfectly, “—tracker on and I had myself a million dollars.”

“Hand over the information.” Amos said, success lacing his voice. 6’4” of pure lies and bragging rights stood beside you, his palm extended awaiting for the papers to be placed in his hands similar to how a bratty child demands biscuits.

You laughed, “Typical billionaire. Should’ve known better than to work with another one of them.”

“For me.” Amos corrected.

Allowing a scoff to escape your throat, you nodded sarcastically. “Work for you, my ass.”

“I really do not have the time nor patience to be dealing with this immaturity. Hand over the papers otherwise I’ll take them from your bloody corpse.” he spat.

“Hey, hey. No need for threats.” Amos’ eyes were glued to you as you reached into your jacket and retrieved the papers. “Now, what do you say?”

Bryant ignored you and snatched the evidence from your hands, giving you just enough time to take him hostage. The gun barrel slammed against his temple so hard it’ll bruise for sure. “Back the fuck up!” you growled at the SWAT team.

“It’s no use, Y/n. There’s a dozen of them and one of you.”

You hissed, “Shut the fuck up.”

The only escape was behind you and it was one you weren’t willing to attempt. Fucking Garrison really had to take you to the pier of all places didn’t he? Bastard probably knew you were petrified of water. “The only way is down. It’s your choice.”

With each step backwards, the orange and red glow from before became more noticeable, along with the pounding against your chest as your heart raced faster than ever. The heels of your boots hung over the wooden boards, the barnacle flaking and falling to the ocean underneath the pressure of your weight. “Let him go!” An officer shouted from behind his shield.

The lack of strength in your arms didn’t go unnoticed by Amos and, in your attempt to find an escape where you’d survive, the blade in his jacket transferred from his hand to your stomach within a blink of an eye. “How did…” The words caught in your throat. You’ve suffered stab wounds before but not to this extent. You felt exhausted and willing to just give in.

Muscular arms shrugged you off, pushing you and causing you to lose your footing. The wooden planks underneath your feet couldn’t support you anymore and you descended into the ocean, a trail of red mixing into the black abyss as you neared closer to the sandy bottom. Red eyes peered down at you from the pier and a wicked smile accompanied it as your eyes fell shut for a final time.

Or so you thought.

Your eyelids snapped open arousing you from – what you assumed was – your death, but instead of water surrounding you, it was fire. Ferocious fire licking the air and making the room unbearably hot. The room, or dungeon rather, was dusty and made out of solid bricks and cement with one small rectangular vent providing enough oxygen to keep you alive. Keep you alive? What happened?

“You died,” A monotone voice answered your thought for you, “well, not recently.”

From the shadows emerged a man – a monster – with bright red horns protruding from his head, with a matching arrowhead tail at long as his legs, and, worse of all, glowing red eyes staring at you with maliciousness.

It was hard not to freak out in the presence of something from a teenage horror novel. “Teenage horror novel?” He eyed you. “I’ve got to say. In all the thousands of times I’ve stolen your memories, not once have you said I looked like a monster from a crappy book series.”

“W-what? You stole my memories? Who – who even are you? Where am I?”

He sighed and shook his head, having been done with the repetitive explaining. “Yes, I stole your memories. I’m the Devil, but you can call me Castiel.” The wink accompanying the sentence made your skin crawl. “And, last but not least, you’re in hell, Baby!”

“You’re – I’m – we’re…”

Castiel – The Devil – audibly groaned and continued, “I’ll just answer all the questions you’re going to ask me. No, I’m not punishing you for the crimes you committed. I’m actually quite fond of you for being capable of doing all of those without being caught. Yes, you really did die. Three months ago, in fact.”

It was just too difficult to keep up with. How were you stuck in hell with The Devil while Bryant was alive and free back there? Why was this Castiel guy so intrigued by you of all people? “What – what was that before? My death. Why…why was everything all…”

“Oh that? Just replaying your death, nothing special really – very casual. The touches of alterations you were sure you were hallucinating about were just a little something special. Don’t worry though, you’ll have your shot at experiencing the bigger ones eventually.” Castiel grinned, displaying sharp and pointed teeth like a vampire from those low-budget movies in the 80’s.

The chains restricting your arms rattled with each step he took closer; your arms shaking wildly. “What do you want with me? What – what are you going to do with me?”

“I’m going to corrupt you; destroy you. Make your deepest, darkest memories rise into control. What I have planned for you, Y/n, is very special.” The arrowhead tail pressed against your neck, sliding over the skin and protruding bone.

It was a long shot, but you allowed a bellow to travel throughout the room in hopes somebody through the vents could hear.

Castiel cocked an eyebrow, expecting more from you. “You can scream and you can call out, but the fact is nobody is coming to your rescue because you’re nothing.”

“Please.” Walls of cracked, bloody bricks slowly vanished into blackness, only Castiel stood before you, his head cocked to the left side as his blood-red eyes looked you up and down. You shrieked, “Fuck, please! I’ll do anything. Just let me go!”

The Devil simply gazed at you, his eyes expressionless as his right hand raised. You recoiled as his fist formed into position. “Don’t! Please!” you wept. It was humiliating. Your whole life you’ve played the badass role but, now, you were pleading to the  _Devil._

“You’re not ready, Y/n.” he said bluntly. The click of his fingers threw you into shock like a gun went off behind you.

The surroundings were hazy and in the distance…a voice, “Mr Callahan has been waiting for you for quite some time.”


End file.
